Creating, Curiosity, Flow, and a Conundrum
Creating is a topic I find fascinating, like psychology, or movement, or ultra-running. To create is defined as bringing something into existence or “to make or produce something.” In order for creation to happen, the creator needs to have a basic knowledge of fundamentals. You can’t create a picture without understanding how to move a pencil, and you can’t create a culinary experience without understanding which basic ingredients are needed or how to turn on the stove.
The act of creating or the ability to be creative is an attribute, like humor or self-confidence. Creativity enabled us to evolve from hunter-gatherers to a free market lifestyle, complete with art, books, and specialists and generalists who provide services and goods you didn’t even realize you needed. Creating is, for some, a livelihood; for others, it’s an outlet that impacts their mood and sense of worth. Though creativity isn’t necessarily correlated with happiness (as evidenced by the tortured artist stereotype), it does correspond to being intrinsically motivated. The drive to create isn’t external reward, but a deep internal desire, stemming from curiosity, challenge, and enjoyment. Curiosity is defined as the desire to know. That desire comes from multiple places, including the desire to explore for its own sake, wanting to decrease gaps in knowledge, and stress tolerance to new situations or ideas.
The link between curiosity and creativity may be partially explained by flow. Flow is a state that is characterized by being completely absorbed in a task. The intense concentration and engagement related to a flow state results in optimal task performance—you do your best work when you are fully immersed, your attention completely focused. Some researchers suggest flow may be related to the ability to generate creative ideas and products, enabling the creator to produce something tangible. Flow triggers an internal sense of reward, and is only experienced when there is a balance between challenge and skill and there are clear goals and feedback. If you have ever found yourself deeply engaged in a project, not wanting to stop for reasons you can’t quite articulate, it’s likely you were in a state of flow.
For some of us, the curiosity and the work that stems from that curiosity keeps us interested, focuses our attention, and elicits an inexplicable sense of internal satisfaction. Not everyone has a deep curiosity and not everyone has a deep desire to create, just like not everyone loves broccoli and not everyone loves movement (two personal favorites). A 1998 meta-analysis by Feist concluded “creative people are more autonomous, introverted, open to new experiences, self-accepting, driven, ambitious, dominant, hostile, and impulsive.” Obviously, not all creative people are all of these things, but many creative people exhibit many of these traits.
It’s worth noting that not all of these adjectives are positive, and it’s also worth noting that being driven, autonomous, and introverted aren’t always great traits to have for establishing positive relationships (I am all of these things, and am fully aware that I tend to prioritize my creative time over my social time. I was talking to a colleague recently, and she said, “the idea of work/life balance is a myth.” For some of us, I think she’s right).
I love my work, and I love creative projects related to my profession. I find what I do fascinating (as evidenced by the fact that I am reading research articles on creativity and flow and writing about those ideas on a Saturday morning before 7AM), and I spend countless hours devoted to the pursuit of reducing gaps in knowledge, exposing myself to new ideas within the field of movement sciences and psychology.
My exploration isn’t solely theoretical; I can also happily amuse for long periods of time exploring how the foot interacts with the floor or what happens when I initiate movement from the pelvis or ribs versus the legs or arms. I create workshop curriculum, experiencing the course as I write the outline on a visceral level, and teaching, like with individual sessions, becomes a way to create an experience that enables attendees to explore and learn more about their entire self. I indulge my curiosities regularly, sharing what I find by producing a blog, video, course, or book around the themes.
My income breakdown goes something like this: 80 percent of my income comes from my one on one sessions, 5 percent of my income comes from my lecturing gig with Naval Postgraduate School, and 15 percent of my income is lost every year to my creative endeavors (this number may actually be higher; if it is, I would rather not know). In this current climate, when my one on one sessions are reduced and my productivity in passion projects is high, it’s forced me to look at how I spend my time and wonder what I should change. How can I be more financially solvent if I am forced to restructure my business?
The thing is, all of my creative pursuits have made me very good at what I do. I am regularly asked how I am able to know what subtle change needs to be made in order to alter a person’s experience. That is what I create during my in person sessions—an experience that takes into account the entire person, one that builds resiliency, self confidence, and encourages autonomy and exploration. My ability to see comes from my experience, not just with other people, but from thinking deeply about movement and the effect it has on the person in front of me.
And so I am left at a crossroads, one where creating isn’t really worth my time financially and, realistically, I should probably be trying to find more clients to train online. But it is worth my time on a deeper level, a level where curiosity and creativity meet and allow me to do something I find profoundly rewarding. Perhaps one of the most challenging aspects of being someone who connects with creating is the financial side. Some creators are excellent marketers; many of us are not, since marketing cuts into time we could be creating. The financial side is ignored until something like a pandemic happens, stripping away financial security and forcing an evaluation of resources. Part of me wishes I created something people valued, providing me a small cushion of financial comfort. Another part of me, the vocal part, doesn’t really care because I find value in the process, and that, to me, is what matters.
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